The little matter of an accent may be misleading, I grant you, but —’ He was interrupted, and with impatience. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. She crushed the letter in her hand. She looked at him mournfully. But at the beginning of the affray, when he thought every one was too much occupied with his own concerns to remark his absence, he slipped out of the room, not for the purpose of avoiding the engagement (for cowardice was not one of his failings), but because he had another object in view. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. .
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